In my mind, I tell T everything.
In reality, I fear there are times he knows very little.
That’s not to say he doesn’t know about things that have happened throughout my life, but it’s more like he’s only getting part of the story.
I am a keeper of secrets.
It means that I have learned to live two different lives.
There is the one where I do whatever it takes to appear normal, where I go about life working, laughing and taking care of others, telling everyone I’m okay and hoping that nobody notices the fear in my eyes or the way I disappear when I’m feeling overwhelmed.
Then there is my inner life. The one where as soon as I am finally alone I can break into tears and fall apart. I’m sure some of you know that inner life. The one where you cannot find the energy or motivation to do anything, where you don’t answer your phone, and find every reason not to leave the house. Where your work suffers, your health suffers, and your soul suffers.
I saw T yesterday. I broke into tears pretty much as soon as I sat down but we talked a little about the situation with my son. He was actually a bit surprised by what’s been going on. I guess, somehow, I had failed to let him in on just how bad things have been going. T also told me he doesn’t really have a clear mental picture of my ex-husband and wants to know more about him. I guess saying ‘sometimes he’s a big asshole’ doesn’t quite clarify the situation enough.
As for my son, T recommends that I meet with a therapist for him, have my son meet with them and then have his father and his father’s wife meet with them as well. I’m not quite sure his father will do it, but I hope he does and can put aside whatever he feels about me and do what needs to be done for our child.
Three years ago when I was dealing with the family agency after our son’s diagnosis with ODD, he wouldn’t answer their questions, he wouldn’t meet with them and he flat out refused to help with the situation. I expressed my concern to T and told him that I wasn’t sure he would cooperate. He said that if his father refuses to help the therapist will just work with whatever I can give them.
Now it’s the waiting game for someone to get back to me.
I find myself becoming increasingly frustrated that everything seems falls on me. Most of the time I feel really, really alone with life. It feels like the people who are supposed to help me don’t–my ex when it comes to the kids, my mother when it comes to just being supportive–and I find it absolutely infuriating that I have to see T in order to get through things in one piece. I’m not saying that seeing T is a bad thing but sometimes it would be nice if other people owned their own shit once in awhile.
During our session, T mentioned that he gets why things feel so overwhelming right now and how I’m stuck sometimes. He says I’m a good mother (even if I don’t feel like I am) and the most important thing is that I don’t take it out on myself because I’m not the bad person that they say I am.
I’ve never met someone like T before. Maybe I never will again. He is, for me, the hope of all that has been left behind. He pushes me up to the surface when it feels like I am drowning, whispering strength until things feel less overwhelming.
Life is strange.
Life is hard.
Life is filled with secrets.
But when I’m with him…
so very okay.
It feels so much better to let him in on some of my secrets.